


reflections

by halfaday (ayasegawoah)



Series: rochan smooches [1]
Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: M/M, creative liberties were taken, nsfw (pg-13 ofc) content in 3 22 and 45, oh length varies too, so ratings vary!, these are drabbles based on a prompt list all combined into one work!, this is just the process of me slowly being unable to shut the fuck up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-10 15:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayasegawoah/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: omnium-gatherum of rochan kissing in different universes, Click Here To Read More





	reflections

**Author's Note:**

> from [this](https://kashimalin-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/178524845380/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts) prompt list, each prompt is written before its corresponding drabble. #45 is DBH au; i'm not precising anything else au/summary-wise bc i feel it might ruin the shorter pieces, but if you've got questions, you can ask them in the comments!!

_ 46: a lingering kiss before a long trip apart _

Chanhee looks incredibly small, swallowed by the puffy coat he's wearing, the faux fur on his hood and the disastrous state of his hair making him look like a bird. He looks barely awake, as if he would drop to the floor if Seokwoo weren't cupping his face — like always, Seokwoo thinks, and he strokes his cheek, once, twice, taking everything in; the glint in his eyes as he looks up to meet his gaze, his sharp cheekbones against his hands, the natural redness of his cheeks, his plump, red lips.

'I love you,' Seokwoo whispers, leaning down to rest his forehead against his, and he closes his eyes, files everything away in a precious box in his mind.

'I love you too.'

Chanhee’s lips are soft against his, sweet with the tiniest hint of sourness on them thanks to the lemon candy he had earlier, and they kiss his tenderly, conveying things words could not articulate, reminding him that he's not gone forever. _ I'm here, _ they say as they deepen their kiss, _ I'll be back soon, _ they promise as they pepper kisses on his lips, kissing and kissing until the pair is out of air. And Seokwoo, as they come up to kiss him one last time, as a voice over the speakers announce that passengers of the Malaysia flight should be boarding; promises with his own that he'll be there, waiting.

_ 3: a breathy demand: "kiss me" - and what the other person does to respond _

_ Kiss me, _Seokwoo had said, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. There was panic swimming in his eyes, along with uncertainty, fear, and lust — the same emotions that had been pooling in Chanhee's stomach for months, that had kept him awake, with nightmares and dreams much too real for his liking. 

He'd obliged, but only for five seconds: then he, _ they _ had overdone it, and taken it too far, much further than it should have been. He'd kissed, and kissed, and gotten drunk on Seokwoo's lips, gotten drunk on the way they moved against his, on the pretty noises they made as he trailed down his neck, his collarbones, his chest; his shirt discarded on the floor of the office. He'd kissed his lips, then every inch of his skin, had whispered prayers against his chest, his stomach, his thighs and his hips, had mapped his entire body with his hands, treating it with the utmost delicacy, only moving on from a spot after Seokwoo started pleading, muttering _ ohs _ and _ pleases _ and _ Chanhees. _ He'd kissed Seokwoo, again as he'd come up, had rested his head against his shoulder, had allowed himself to think about how fucked they were before looking up and kissing him again, rediscovering his neck, his back, his chest, his waist. He'd kissed Seokwoo, and let him kiss him back, had allowed him to undress him and throw his expensive pair of shoes across the room, had allowed him to do whatever he wanted with his body.

He'd kissed Seokwoo, and had absolutely ruined everything — but as he’d whispered this into the dead of the night, as he was still seeing stars, Seokwoo had shushed him.

'Quiet,' he'd said, hovering over him, body glistening with sweat, shakily brushing his hair back; and he looked so beautiful, wanting to preserve the emotions, the memories — Chanhee had sat up, and crashed his lips against his, absolutely enamoured.

And amidst all the emotions already coursing through his veins, he'd felt hope.

_19: one person stopping a kiss to ask "do you want to do this?", only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss_

The ring is cool around Seokwoo's finger, an unfamiliar sweetness protecting the bit of skin underneath, and Seokwoo fiddles with it as his hand comes up to rest on Chanhee's shoulder.

'Hang on,' he says, pulling back, avoiding to look at anything that isn't Chanhee's eyes by fear of being distracted, his rosy cheeks and ecstatic smile already too much in his peripheral vision. 'Do you really want to do this?'

Chanhee laughs, softly, a sound that makes Seokwoo's heart vibrate and beat faster in his chest, and Seokwoo hopes, _ hopes _this isn't a way too elaborate prank.

'Of course I do. I love you.' 

It's said so nonchalantly, like it's the most evident thing in the world, like one and one equals two, the earth orbits the sun, food and sheep do not change when in plural form, and Chanhee wants to marry Seokwoo, because he loves him and sees the both of them growing old together. It's obvious, stupidly so, and the evidence of it all is even more groundbreaking to Seokwoo, has him unable to know what to even reply.

'Don't cry,' Chanhee says as Seokwoo hides his face in his hands, and smiles when their eyes meet. 'You can do that when we're at the town hall looking all pretty in clothes we'll never wear again. Or well, until I ask you to marry me again.'

The tears pricking Seokwoo's eyes accidentally roll down his cheeks as he laughs, and he hits Chanhee in the chest, leaning down.

'As if,' he says, interlinking their fingers, 'I'll be the one asking that question.'

Chanhee laughs against his lips, gets a little lost in his kisses before answering, as Seokwoo catches his breath:

'Well, you don't really have to. You know that I do.'

_ 4: an accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose _

Chanhee's blush is a mess, smeared all over his cheeks, as if a five year old did his makeup; but the glitter on his cheekbones, on his eyelids, is still there, and Seokwoo relishes the way the light catches into it, the way the twinkles contrast with the pink of his lips. 

'Um,' he says, very stupidly, looking up to meet his eyes a second too late, and he blushes, lets out an embarrassed chuckle before continuing, 'are you gonna use that?'

'Oh- no.'

Chanhee hands him the cartons of milk he's holding, his hands carefully brushing against Seokwoo's arms, and, even with the awfully thick sleeves of his witch costume, Seokwoo fancies he can feel the touch, as if it were right against his skin.

‘Thank you.'

He doesn't know what to add, awkward questions (seems like you've been enjoying the party? what do you think of Youngbin's new house? will you need milk in the morning?) replaying in his mind, clogging it and rendering him unable to come up with the right words. _ Perhaps it's not the right time, _ he thinks, _ perhaps I should let it go. _

'Hey,' Chanhee says as Seokwoo heads towards the door, back to the party and feigning interest about everything that isn't Chanhee and his plump lips. He's ethereal, his own witch costume fitting him perfectly, a soft smile splaying on his lips. 'About earlier.'

Seokwoo's stomach twists, churns, lets anxiety and dread settle there — he attempts a smile, but in vain, the memory of the barest touch of Chanhee's lips on his making his heart speed up again, making his hands clammy and his head dizzy, turning the world under his feet into quicksand, unstable yet strong, immobilising him.

'Yes?'

His voice is weak, awfully weak, quiet and scared — but Chanhee only smiles a little more, walking up to him and coming to a stop a few decimeters away from him. He stares at the milk in Seokwoo's arms, his orange bangs partially covering his eyes, catching in his lashes when he looks up. He's gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking, and Seokwoo wants everything to be different, wants the stupid brush of their lips together to be replaced with the simple peck on the cheek Chanhee was going for, wants the awkwardness he's felt throughout the entirety of the party to dissolve, wants to stop having feelings for one of his best friends. If only, if only. But Chanhee stands there, in front of him, and Seokwoo's heart beats for him no matter what his mind wants.

'I,' starts Chanhee, then stops, looking for the right words. _ Let's forget about it, _ probably, or perhaps even a _ we're still friends, aren't we? _ — but he looks strangely confident for him to articulate doubt, Seokwoo thinks, a little too upright and happy. But then again, perhaps he's playing it off, perhaps he doesn't care as much as Seokwoo does. 

Seokwoo steadies himself, tightens his grip on the cartons as if they could protect him from what's to come.

'I think we're clear on the fact that none of us wanted that kiss to happen. It was quite a misstep, from you, but also me.'

Chanhee marks a pause, and Seokwoo ignores his breaking heart to nod, clears his throat to agree.

'Yeah.'

A lie, that burns Seokwoo deeply, but Chanhee, oblivious Chanhee, gives him a smile, like a teacher would to a student when they give the perfect answer, and Seokwoo, once more, wishes everything were different.

'It was a mistake,' Chanhee says, stabbing Seokwoo yet again in the heart, stomping on its corpse without even noticing — but suddenly his fingers come to rest inches away from Seokwoo's, fiddling with the plastic keeping the cartons together; and his voice drops to a whisper, 'but if you were okay with it, I wouldn't mind doing it again. And again. A few times. As much as you want.'

His eyes glint with something as they meet Seokwoo's — fear and hope, a light that Seokwoo is sure is reflected in his eyes — and amidst all the thoughts crossing his mind, amidst the realisation that Chanhee might _ (does???) _ want to kiss him, that his feelings might not be one-sided, that everything could be fine; he thinks he's beautiful, glitter shining under the light, lips slightly parted as he waits for an answer, looking at him intently, vulnerability carefully hidden under a soft smile.

'Please,' is the only thing Seokwoo manages to say. He leans down a little — he's not quite sure, can only focus on Chanhee's hands bumping against his, the way Chanhee's eyes flick to his lips, the fact that Chanhee is looking at him, and only him, as if he were bewitched and unwilling to be freed from the charm. 'Be my guest.'

Chanhee doesn't need to be told twice — and as he kisses Seokwoo once, twice, thrice, kisses him again during the party and afterwards, Seokwoo smiles, and thinks that things might be alright like this.

_ 44: tentative kisses given in the dark _

'Hang on. Stay still.'

Chanhee obeys, becoming rigid, immobile, forbidding himself to even blink. The wooden boards of the floor creak as Seokwoo shifts, kneeling on them, and a hand, warm, careful, bumps against his legs, follows the curve of his thighs before deserting them, resting on the mattress near them.

He can barely make out Seokwoo, vague silhouette in the dark; the only indication that he's too close to him being his breath fanning his face, the palpable scent of his shampoo, apricot and lemon, filling Chanhee's lungs as he gets closer, stops millimeters away from his chin.

'A little higher,' Chanhee says, and he tentatively extends a hand, wanting to hold Seokwoo. It takes a few tries of pawing at the void, but he manages to find his back, and lays his hand there; at the exact same time Seokwoo finally kisses him.

It's — awkward, to say the least. Their noses bump against each other an embarrassing amount of times, and Chanhee doesn't know what to do with his hands, doesn't know how he should tilt his head, has no idea if they're doing well or not. The small mercy, he thinks as he kisses back clumsily, trying to caress Seokwoo's back as he does so, his hand sliding down his shirt with difficulty, is that Seokwoo is as inexperienced as he is, that he too, judging by the slight shake in his hands as he tilts up Chanhee's face, is as terrified as he is.

'Shit,' he says, pulling back mid-kiss, and Chanhee finds the sudden loss of lips on his strange, ‘this is a mess.'

His hand knocks into Chanhee's knee as he raises it to rub his face, and he apologises, adding a 'shit!' to the phrase.

'Perhaps we should take it slow,' Chanhee suggests as Seokwoo rubs his knee, enjoying the way the long fingers feel on his skin, curling around his knee, stroking it gently.

'What do you mean?'

Chanhee has no idea what he means — he shrugs, and opens his mouth, tries to figure out what the idiom could mean in this situation.

'I don't know. Do it again but more slowly. Take our time. Go with the flow.' He pauses, frowns. 'Enjoy the moment?'

Seokwoo snorts at the attempt, not convinced in the least by the string of quotes that could all belong to a coming-of-age movie, but he still mutters a _ ok, _ shifts a little on the floor to resume his position.

'Alright,' he takes a deep breath, squeezes Chanhee's knee for — comfort, strength, peace of mind or something like that. 'Do you want to do it?'

Chanhee shakes his head, then remembers Seokwoo cannot see him.

'No. not really. I'll follow. Unless you want me to…?'

'I,' awkward chuckle, 'can handle a few more.'

'Okay. Tell me when you want to switch, then.'

Seokwoo whispers a brief _ yes, _ then his hand deserts his knee to tilt his chin. It's not the best position, has Chanhee craning his neck a bit too much, and, as Seokwoo leans in to kiss him, Chanhee remembers his own words.

'Wait,' he says. 'Your hand. Put it back on my knee.'

'Your knee? But why?'

'I like it there.'

A lie, Chanhee thinks as he utters the words, but, as Seokwoo obeys, as his hand comes to rest on his knee, Chanhee realises it is actually the truth.

'And how do I tilt your head? How do I figure out where your mouth is?'

'I'll tilt it myself. And- I don't know, just- explore, or something.'

The words have Chanhee blushing furiously, have him feeling absolutely stupid, but Seokwoo seems to take them as good advice, and leans in, seemingly ready for another disastrous session.

Only it doesn't start out as one — the silence before each first kiss they've gotten used to now broken by Seokwoo's voice, the warmth of his hand on Chanhee's knee enjoyable.

'Guide me,' he whispers, and Chanhee shivers at how close his mouth is to his ear, just under his temple. 'Close your eyes. Tell me what you like.'

It takes Chanhee a few seconds before replying _ sure _ (the only thing he can manage to utter), and, just a millisecond later, Seokwoo's lips are on his skin.

They crash against it, which is not quite what Chanhee was expecting, but Seokwoo is quick to adapt, and switches to grazing his skin. Chanhee closes his eyes.

'Lower,' he says, and Seokwoo follows, his lips trailing down the edge of his cheek. It’s an odd sensation, the softness of Seokwoo’s lips on his skin, barely touching it yet remaining there, and Chanhee remains quiet, appreciating, waiting. He’s expecting Seokwoo to attain his ear, plans on telling him where to go then, but Seokwoo gets past it in one quick trail of his lips, reaches his jaw. Chanhee opens his mouth to tell him to go up, but his lips, even if hesitating, feel good there, and so — he only tilts his head up to give him better access.

'That's not your lips,' Seokwoo says after getting dangerously close to Chanhee's earlobe, and Chanhee swallows — how odd it feels when he's talking against his skin, how pleasant it is. It tickles, but softly, and Chanhee doesn't really know if he likes it when he stops. 

Seokwoo trails a little lower, stops right under his ear.

'Do you like it?'

it's even worse, _ better _ here, and Chanhee inhales calmly.

'Yes. I,' he hesitates, unsure of whether he should be honest or not — but they're in this together after all, he's helping Seokwoo as much as Seokwoo is helping him, 'I like it when you talk. It feels nice.'

'Okay.' A pause in his tracks. 'I don't know what to say.' Another pause, then a sigh, hot against Chanhee's neck, tired. 'Whatever. Focus. Go with the flow.'

He starts again, his hand shifting on Chanhee's knee, resting a little higher, at the edge of his shorts' sleeve, and for a brief moment, Chanhee can only focus on it, its warmth and its softness. For a brief moment only — Seokwoo kisses his skin then, and Chanhee's mind is brought back to his lips, to the path they trace on his neck.

He peppers kisses here and there, mostly quietly, but breaks the silence twice, the first time asking if he should go lower ('no'), the second time making a simple comment on his scent, telling Chanhee he smells nice, and, in the middle of freaking out about the hand on his thigh going even higher and scrunching his nose at the hair tickling it, Chanhee feels warmth in his chest. The process of it all is slow, excruciatingly slow, but it feels nice, and Seokwoo, although insecure, is enjoying it as much as him.

'This is pleasant,' he whispers, kissing the spot underneath Chanhee's chin.

There's a slight quiver to his lips as he wanders on the lower side of his cheek, as he pecks him on the chin a few times, and Chanhee lays his hand on his, strokes his forearm in support. It seems it helps Seokwoo: he doesn't stop in his tracks, doesn't pull back like he did earlier, right as they were going to kiss a second time, doesn't try to crack a joke to calm himself down. No: instead, he pecks Chanhee on the lips, softly, once, twice, brushes their lips together, tracing a path that is centered around them, pecks him one last time — and then kisses him.

It's — indescribable. It's not really perfect, a bit messy and clumsy still, but it's much better than before, and Chanhee, without even being asked to, leans forward, tilts his head to give Seokwoo better access. His hand, somehow, wanders up in Seokwoo's hair, discovering a land he hadn't even dreamed of imagining, and he gets lost in it, relinquishes a portion of what Seokwoo has been giving.

Seokwoo's lips are nice; and it's not new, but the way they move against his is, the slow, tender pecks he plants on his lips, the care with which he kisses, as if he were trying to memorise everything, as if the tiniest misstep would cost his life. He kisses like Chanhee imagines an angel would, insecure yet devoted, pouring care and sweetness into each osculation, as if he were breathing life into him — so peculiar, and yet Chanhee finds he likes it; thinks, as the kiss deepens, that he may indeed die if their mouths part.

It’s sweet, and, albeit the obvious lack of experience, so heavenly; tender and warm just like Seokwoo, loving in the way he’s held, Seokwoo’s hand cupping his cheek as if it were a fragile thing, his other hand stroking his thigh gently. Chanhee feels like a newfound land, one that requires time and patience in order to be fully explored and appreciated, and Seokwoo, devout Seokwoo, obliges, maps every inch of him that he can find, makes Chanhee feel holy and want more. All of this is so far from perfect — the way they sit would look odd with the lights on, their hands tremble as they touch each other, their lips bump a few times and their mouths are still learning to be familiar with each other — yet when Seokwoo whispers that this is different, that this feels nice, when he asks if Chanhee wants to keep going, Chanhee can only mutter a meek yes, can only sigh as Seokwoo’s lips find his yet again.

It’s new, unfamiliar, and yet great, absolutely fantastic; and Chanhee has a hard time coming back to earth after Seokwoo pulls back, swinging a little too forward, struggling to breathe.

He wants to say something, wants to tell Seokwoo he did well, wants to word how good this all felt, but words cannot describe the experience, and, as Chanhee opens his mouth to curse, he finds his voice is stuck in his throat, unable to come out. He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t try to pull himself together — he leans his head against Seokwoo’s shoulder, sighing, pawing around, searching for Seokwoo's hand, in dire need of an axis for his world. He finds it; and Seokwoo tangles their fingers together, strokes the back of his hand tenderly.

'Was this okay?'

Chanhee lets out a chuckle, a little too loud, nervous. Seokwoo smells nice, apricot and lemon, and Chanhee closes his eyes as he nuzzles his neck, inhaling his scent, letting it calm him down and bring his senses back to him. His lips tingle, the ghost of Seokwoo's own lips still lingering on them, and he licks them, taste the spirit and locks it away in his mind. 

'More than okay.'

_ 17: tucking their hands beneath the other person's shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin _

Getting hit in the head by a door has its advantages. Sure, it has its flaws — like hurting like shit, making Chanhee want to barf for a good five minutes, and making him look absolutely stupid with an ice pack on his forehead — but his boyfriend sitting on top of him, kissing every accessible part of his skin as an apology, eclipses them all.

It had started as a joke: after the unfortunate accident (Seokwoo opening the door of the room he was locked in too fast, and Chanhee being too slow to register it), as Seokwoo made him take off the ice pack every ten seconds to look at his wound, Chanhee had pouted, and curled up on his bed.

'You only care about it now that you've hurt me. Least you ought to do is beg for forgiveness with kisses.'

Seokwoo had thrown him an offended look, absolutely revolted by the insinuation, but, two minutes later, as Chanhee refused to tell him if he wanted to drink something, he'd indulged him, pushing him down on the bed and muttering that he was ungrateful as he came down to kiss his cheekbone.

'I'm so sorry,' he's now chaunting as he drags his lips on Chanhee's stomach, his hoodie lifted to reveal his midriff. 'I am so sorry my love and dear, my most-beloved amour.'

He's been at it for a while now, and Chanhee has been enjoying every second of it; but his heart doesn't seem to be in it anymore. He needs a reminder of his crimes, apparently, and Chanhee knows just how to do that.

'Seokwoo,' he calls, doing an excellent job at sounding like an old man on his deathbed, 'kiss me.'

Seokwoo sighs, rolling his eyes, muttering that he's been doing just that, but still comes up.

'You're a buffoon,' he says, 'an absolute booboo the fool.'

But still he strokes his cheek tenderly, gazes at him before leaning down, intertwining their fingers together.

His lips are warm against Chanhee's, and loving no matter what they were saying seconds ago, and Chanhee allows himself to enjoy the kiss, to savour the taste of his lips and how they move against his; allows himself to kiss back a few times before he lets go of his ice pack and slides his frozen hand under Seokwoo's tee-shirt.

The result is immediate, and split in three parts: Seokwoo jumps up, startled; screams, first a beast-like scream, then Chanhee's name; then he looks at Chanhee, fuming, murder dancing in his eyes.

'You- you-'

'Am just reminding you of why you're apologising.'

Seokwoo squints, furious, and Chanhee expects yet another snark war, but instead Seokwoo pouts, strokes his forehead gently.

'I'm sorry, babe.'

He kisses his wound, once, twice, pouts some more as he caresses it, as if rubbing it would make it disappear. Kisses never had healing properties, nor will stroking the wound ever magically make it all better, but, well — he's trying. Foolishly so, caring a little too much, but that's one of the infinite reasons Chanhee love him.

As he leans down to kiss his forehead once more, Chanhee tilts his head, and catches his lips with his — this is truce, until next time.

_ 22&23: a kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party; a kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating _

The Great Thief has him pinned to the wall. Which is, to be honest, quite stupid, when Seokwoo is a good fifteen centimeters taller than him, and supposedly one of the best spies of the country, but there are _ circonstances — _like every time Chanhee has him pinned to a wall. First time, it was pure luck on Chanhee's side, Seokwoo's ignorance of his methods. Second time, it was an evil machination of Chanhee, that had taken time to imagine, and execute. Third time, it was once again pure luck, and awful architecture that didn't suit Seokwoo's methods very well. Tonight… well, tonight… is a bit special. It was the handcuffs, he'll tell his boss, impossible to break, too high for him to reach, made in a special metal never heard of before; and he'll conveniently omit to mention that said-handcuffs only had him as a prisoner for a few minutes, that more than half of his time spent pinned to that godforsaken wall instead of running around trying to catch the Great Thief and his newest painting acquisition, was spent kissing said-Great Thief. It's all part of his plan, to distract Chanhee, to keep him here until backup arrives, but the boss doesn't need to know how he succeeds, doesn't need to know exactly how and why it worked.

Chanhee tastes like strawberry against his lips, his tongue; a remnant of the evening before he'd decided to shut the museum down and scare every civilian on the main floor. It's sweet, sugary, but not disgusting, and Seokwoo makes a mental note to later ask the curator where the macarons came from. Who knows, he could buy the same next time Chanhee strikes, or the next time he's on a boring mission and needs a pick-me-up. Or if one day they finally meet outside of work, and have the luxury to do whatever they want — he likes licking the flavour off his lips.

'God.'

Chanhee has moved on from his lips to his neck, peppering kisses here and there, nibbling and licking a few spots, and Seokwoo prays Taeyang will be arriving soon. With the way this is going, he might be in a compromising position in a few minutes. And not that he doesn't like the sound of it (he actually quite likes it, he thinks as he lets Chanhee explore his neck and roam his hands all over his body), but it wouldn't do to be found half-naked with Chanhee going down on him. Sadly.

'I didn't know you had a scar there.'

A pause in his tracks, as Chanhee waits for an answer.

'It's from my third mission. The target was dressed as a civilian, I naively assumed they were innocent, they hurled a chair at me.'

'I see.'

Chanhee licks the scar, kisses it. He trails his lips down then comes back to kiss it, as if he were trying to make a point. Seokwoo squeezes his hip — he's making it and getting it across.

'Are you going to go down on me like that?' Seokwoo manages to say, just to gain some time, wondering why the fuck on earth Taeyang is not here yet. This is getting out of control.

Chanhee laughs, has the audacity to squeeze his ass and suck on his adam's apple.

'No, sorry.' A kiss to the spot after Seokwoo mutters a _ no mark, please. _ 'I'm just killing time.'

Unfortunate, Seokwoo thinks, and he doesn't have enough dignity left to stop himself from sighing.

'I'm sorry.' Chanhee nuzzles the spot between his collarbones. 'I'll make it up to you one day.'

'By giving yourself away to the services and accepting the punition you deserve?'

Chanhee rolls his hips, just to fuck around, just to make Seokwoo regret his brief impetus of courage, and Seokwoo wants to scream — it works a little too well. 

'Can you- be mindful. I have to look decent when the services show up and you inevitably escape.'

A laugh, Chanhee going back up, kissing his chin and his jaw, his cheek.

'Sorry, babe.' His hand strokes Seokwoo's hip, a little slower, to deescalate the situation, but Seokwoo is not quite sure his body is reacting accordingly. 'No, I'm not giving myself up to the authorities.'

'So you're not doing anything to apologise for giving me blue balls?'

Yet another laugh, but this time quiet, a simple puff of air against Seokwoo's lips. Seokwoo meets Chanhee's gaze, his round, slightly droopy brown eyes, and is unable to look away.

'I'll properly take you to bed one day. I'll kiss you and fuck you and cuddle you and make love to you and whatever you want. I'll make breakfast if you stay the night and I won't do anything to stop you if you leave before seven o'clock. I'll be yours, and you can decide if you'll be mine or not.'

Seokwoo's heart beats fast, runs a marathon in his chest — thoughts swirl and swirl in his mind, crash against each other, joining their symphony to the vague noises echoing in the background, far away in the stairs and the floors under theirs.

This is a promise, something tangible — quite unlike Chanhee, but it has Seokwoo losing grip on everything else. The both of them, together — perhaps Seokwoo should tell the boss - Or not, he thinks, the idea repulsing him as soon as it crosses his mind. No, he argues to his reason, as he gazes down at Chanhee, and is foolishly charmed by the lack of treachery in his eyes, by how pretty he looks; this should remain between the two of them, this does not have anything to do with the agency, the services.

'When,' he whispers, the only thing that in the end really matters. Who cares about his boss, about his job, about the fact that he has to catch Chanhee, when Chanhee's hands have been mapping his body like some holy ground, when his lips feel this heavenly on his, when he looks at Seokwoo like this and promises him _ something, _like he wants it as much as Seokwoo. Who cares about the rest of the world, when Kang Chanhee, the Great Thief, the skilled, impossible-to-catch art thief, one of the greatest criminals of the country, is right there, willingly planning to make time for him, telling him he'll be his if Seokwoo wants him to be.

'Someday.'

Seokwoo lets out a whine as Chanhee kisses him, softly, sealing the promise with his lips, before retreating into the dark, running into a room Seokwoo is sure will lead him to some obscure exit. He doesn't run after him, too exhausted, too occupied by what's been sworn to him, and he drops to the floor, rubs his face as voices flow into the corridor.

Taeyang frowns as Seokwoo says he didn't catch Chanhee, sighs, but he helps him up anyway, and pats him on the back, tells him he did a good job as they drive back to their hotel. He's far, far from the truth, has no idea that Seokwoo fucked up splendidly — but Seokwoo doesn't say anything, keeps all his sins to himself.

And, as he lies in bed afterwards, thinks of Chanhee and his promise, uses his own hands to replace the ones that were touching him; as he lets his imagination trip over itself and, in a daze, fancies feeling the warmth of Chanhee's chest against his, his shame, his failure disappear, making way for anticipation, and the thought that failing this mission might be a good thing if it means being Chanhee's; even if for a while.

_ 8&21: laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other's hand; a chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company _

Chanhee looks beautiful in his black and grey suit, entranced by the painting by the staircase, brows slightly furrowed as he takes in every detail of the scene, his hands, as always, tucked in his pockets — Seokwoo gives himself a few seconds, just to stare at him, to memorise the scene.

'Hey,' he finally says, and a hand deserts its pocket, comes to loosely hold his. 'Enjoying the view?'

Chanhee grimaces, letting Seokwoo lead him outside. 'Not really. It's… kind of ugly.'

'Isn't it? I've always told my aunt to hang something else there, but she wouldn't listen.'

_ And now uncle is keeping it up in memory of her, _ he thinks, _ now anyone who sees it has to share the grief the family went through. _

But Chanhee doesn't seem to be affected, staring instead at the plants on the porch, paying no attention to the gazes thrown his way, the gazes that cling to their linked hands, and judge the both of them. He's looking around, like a child visiting an amusement park, taking everything in, and Seokwoo squeezes his hand, thankful he's a total stranger in this place, thankful everything about him has no ties to this awful place, this awful family he's part of. Chanhee is himself, a safe haven, an entirely different place for Seokwoo, and nothing could make Seokwoo happier.

'I love you,' he whispers as Chanhee touches the tulips by the stairs, a little too engrossed by what Seokwoo has always considered very badly grown plants. 

Chanhee strokes the petals of the biggest flower, then turns to him, smiling softly.

'I love you too,' he says, Seokwoo's very own sun, and Seokwoo wants to cup his face, stroke his cheek and kiss him. Yet this is not quite the place: in plain sight, too many people around them, and even if Seokwoo does not belong here anymore, even if he now is his own person, the thought of kissing Chanhee on the lips has his hands shaking, becoming all clammy and disgusting. It's pathetic, simple fear erasing all the growth Seokwoo has gone through the past few years, but it's something he cannot help, so he instead brings Chanhee's hand to his lips, inhales its scent and tries to convey his feelings with a simple touch, a kiss without ever kissing his skin.

Chanhee gets it; smiles fondly at him, squeezes his hand.

'I love you too,' he repeats, and Seokwoo, in the darkness of his shame and guilt, recognises his light, and beams.

_ 16: one person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person _

A wet-to-the-bone, unenthusiastic, and very sad-looking Seokwoo wasn't what Chanhee expected to see for their very first time of him coming home, but it's what greets him as he steps out of the kitchen, and he rushes to him, wooden spoon in hand.

'Is something wrong? Did something happen?'

Seokwoo remains silent, a rarity, something that only happens when he's shaken, and Chanhee watches as he takes off his shoes, takes off his raincoat and hangs it on the brand new, shiny coat rack. 

'Seokwoo,' he says, getting more and more worried by the second; but it's all he gets to say before Seokwoo throws himself into his arms, hugging him like his entire world is falling down and Chanhee is the only thing that can keep him standing.

'Seokwoo,' Chanhee repeats, immediately wrapping his arms around his waist, rocking him gently. 'Seokwoo, what happened?'

A squeeze of Seokwoo's arms, tightening their hold around Chanhee's shoulders, then, finally, an answer:

'I broke it.'

Chanhee frowns, tries to get a look at Seokwoo's face — in vain: it's completely hidden in the crook of his own neck.

'Broke what? Seokwoo…?'

Seokwoo sighs, lets out what sounds like a sob, and Chanhee holds him tighter, kisses the crown of his head.

_ Please let it not be a death, _ he thinks, _ please let it not be a death. _

‘Yu meu'.'

'What? Seokwoo? Who what?'

Seokwoo moves his head just a little, just so Chanhee's neck doesn't get in the way as he repeats himself.

'Your mug.'

And Chanhee blinks. Once, twice, thrice. He blinks, then looks down.

'You broke my mug?'

A nod, then a sigh. 'During the afternoon. I was looking for a file and it fell off my desk while I was fumbling around.'

'And that's why you're sad?' 

_ Wrong tone, wrong wording, _Chanhee immediately thinks, and he hugs Seokwoo a little tighter, strokes his back.

'Baby, it's fine. It's just a mug. I'll get you another one if you want. I'm sure Youngkyun won't mind.'

'But-' Seokwoo pulls back, hides his face in his hands, and Chanhee gently takes them off, holds them with his own as he looks at Seokwoo.

'What is it?'

'You liked it so much,' Seokwoo mutters, 'and you actually gave it to me on my birthday. It was a really nice day.'

Chanhee remembers. It had exactly been one month after their first anniversary, and a few days after Seokwoo had finally taken off the cast on his leg. They had gone to the river for a picnic to celebrate, then rushed back to Seokwoo's apartment once it'd started to rain. They were discussing what movie to watch when Chanhee had gifted Seokwoo the mug, a white piece with splashes of blue and orange paints here and there, made by his best friend who owned a store down the road of his (now former) apartment, and Seokwoo had kissed him a thousand times, falling in love at first sight, promising to keep it for work, so that he'd think of him when he looked at it.

Chanhee sighs, and pulls Seokwoo into his arms. 

‘It's fine,' he says. He strokes his back, gently, softly, goes up and down and up and down, and kisses his neck. 'It's fine.'

Seokwoo sniffles, not saying anything, and Chanhee kisses his neck again.

'I'll buy you another one, okay? One that I'll love differently, but just as much. And when you'll look at it, you can think of all the days that have yet to come; all our times spent together. Hey, how about that, we'll even go and pick it together. How does that sound?'

Another sniffle, then Seokwoo kisses the top of his head.

'It sounds nice. I like it.'

'Good. Then we'll do that.'

He smiles when he pulls back, cupping Seokwoo's face, stroking his cheeks.

'I'm sorry,' Seokwoo mutters, 'I've had a shit day today.'

'It's fine. Do you wanna talk about it?'

Seokwoo leans into Chanhee's touch, briefly closes his eyes.

'Later?' Chanhee nods, and Seokwoo smiles. 'I'm sorry.'

'Shhhh.'

Chanhee brushes his thumb on Seokwoo's lips, pokes the pout that made its way there.

'It's fine,' he whispers, and he tiptoes to kiss him, a little peck on his lips, then a longer kiss, just enough to make the pout disappear. 'It's all good.'

A heartbroken Seokwoo, in a bad mood because he broke his first birthday gift to him, is not what Chanhee expected to see as the first of many times Seokwoo would come home to their shared flat — but, as Seokwoo kisses him back, all traces of sadness for now forgotten, Chanhee thinks there must be ups and downs, and knows for a fact he'll be there to face both.

_ 45: kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed _

Seokwoo's LED is a vibrant blue, bright and beautiful, but, even without his hair covering it, it's definitely not enough to illuminate the room. Not that it's really a problem: it would have come in handy, true, but Chanhee's mind is focused on the trail of kisses Seokwoo is tracing down his neck, on the hands roaming his body and guiding him towards their bedroom.

'Aoutch,' he exclaims as he bumps into what appears to be the kitchen counter, and Seokwoo interrupts his kissing to ask if he's okay. 'Yes, yes, I'm fine, just- move on.'

And so Seokwoo does, throwing Chanhee's jacket across the room, then his own, sliding his hands under Chanhee's tee-shirt. He pins him to some wall (the door of the toilet?) for a while, taking off his tee-shirt and lowering himself to kiss his bare chest, moaning as Chanhee's hands explore his hair and pull on it.

'Are we even going to make it to the bedroom?' he mutters in-between two kisses.

Chanhee opens his mouth, moans as Seokwoo bites the spot right above his belt buckle, takes a deep breath then reminds him of the couch. 

‘Right,' Seokwoo says, 'right.'

And he stands up, ready to guide Chanhee to the couch, but two steps later, and there's a loud _ bang! _ , and then a _ clack! _.

'Seokwoo? You okay?'

A puff of air against Chanhee's face, a hand pulling him closer.

'All good. Just the goddamn light. And the- I don't know, is it the old coffee table?'

'Isn't it the chair Jaeyoon gave us?'

The sound of a kick into a piece of furniture, a small _ aaaah _ as Seokwoo remembers he's not wearing shoes.

'Positive. It's the old coffee table.'

'And your foot?'

A silence, the led changing to a bright yellow, then back to blue.

'No broken parts. Just my ego.'

Chanhee laughs. 'Alright.'

It doesn't take them long to go back to their original mood, and things go well as Chanhee unbuttons Seokwoo's shirt and throws it somewhere in the living-room, as he caresses and licks and pinches every bit of skin accessible. It goes tremendously well, until Seokwoo, finally having enough of dry humping, decides to finally guide them to the sofa.

'Fuck!' he exclaims mid-kiss, and that's all he gets to say before they plummet to the floor. 

Chanhee thinks he sees stars as his head hits the carpeted floor — not the good ones, but still he moans, suddenly very aware of his entire skeleton.

'Shit, oh shit, oh shit Chanhee I'm so sorry- Chanhee, Chanhee- Chanhee, are you alright?'

Seokwoo's hands are frantic on his face, his neck, then suddenly they disappear, like the rest of the weight on his body. Chanhee moves around, tries to find them again, but to no avail — and then a bright orb appears, reflects the sculptures of a thousand birds. The chandelier of the living-room.

'Oh- god- turn that off, oh my god- oh, shit-'

The light disappears, eclipsed by Seokwoo, worried Seokwoo, frowning very hard as he hovers over him, barely touching him, scared that if he does Chanhee will break into a million pieces.

'I'm so sorry,' he mutters, and his breath fanning Chanhee's face is a relief, something familiar in the spiral of pain and nausea making its way up his oesophagus. 'I'm so, so, so sorry, oh my god- let me check it, oh my god, Chanhee, I'm so sorry-'

Chanhee doesn't say anything, too scared that if he tries to speak only vomit will come out, moaning and whining instead as Seokwoo carefully lifts his head, holds his skull to make a diagnostic. 

'You're good,' Seokwoo announces after a few seconds, and he gently replaces his head on the floor. 'Are you feeling good?'

It takes Chanhee some strength to word something, opening his mouth for a few seconds before saying anything, checking to see if his dinner will invite itself to the sudden mess. It does not, and Chanhee speaks:

'I feel like absolute shit. My head… Wow…' he closes his eyes, leans into Seokwoo's hand as it cups his face. 'It's there, alright. it's very there.'

'I'll fetch you ice,' Seokwoo says, standing up, and once again the light burns, irritates his closed eyes.

Footsteps departing, then returning just a few moments later, and Chanhee opens one eye.

'I'll put you to bed first,' Seokwoo explains as he gathers him in his arms, carrying him bridal style. 'There's no point in remaining on the floor.'

No shenanigans, he means, no sex for today, and, to be quite honest, Chanhee is grateful for it — his head might be fine, but it would probably implode during the buildup to his orgasm. 

The bed is heavenly under him, his pillow cloud nine itself as he rests his head on it — he sighs as Seokwoo leaves the room to get the ice, thanks whoever invented feather pillows for making them this comfortable. He starts taking off his pants; slowly, with difficulty, but he manages, and throws them as far as he can, which means they land right at Seokwoo's feet as he appears.

'Chanhee,' he warns as he picks them up, dropping them in the laundry basket by the bedside table.

'No worries, no worries. I'm just getting comfortable for the night.'

Seokwoo looks suspicious, but Chanhee sliding under the covers seems to convince him.

'Good,' he says, and he hands Chanhee the ice, places a thick towel under his head so his pillow won't get too wet. 'I'm, um, really sorry, you know.'

'I thought I'd heard something along those lines a few hundred times a few minutes ago- ah-' a sudden pain at the back of his head, and Chanhee bites down on his lower lip, applying the ice pack where it hurts. 'That's the universe telling me to shut up.'

A finger strokes his forehead, brushes back his bangs, and Chanhee sighs, appreciating the touch.

'What even happened,' he mutters.

The mattress dips as Seokwoo sits on the bed, now tracing the line of his eyebrows, the line of his nose, stroking his cheek.

'My feet got caught in your tee-shirt,' he explains, 'I lost my balance.'

'Ah.'

'I'm sorry.'

Chanhee opens one eye again, lays his hand on Seokwoo's.

'Stop saying that. I know you're sorry. But it's not your fault. Besides, I'm fine.'

'Are you?'

'I am.' Chanhee forces himself to sit up, but it does not go further than telling his body it should sit up. 'Have known better days. But am good.'

'Mhmm.'

Seokwoo stands up, disappears into the corridor for a moment, then comes back, taking off his jeans, folding them carefully at the end of the bed. Chanhee averts his gaze — the universe worked so hard to make him forget about his boner, he shouldn't undo its hard work.

He scoots closer when Seokwoo takes place next to him, snuggling up to him, resting his head on his chest, and Seokwoo wraps his arm around his shoulders, grabs the ice pack and applies it on the wound himself. He's — not warm, nor is he cold, and Chanhee kisses his chest, runs his hand on his stomach before settling it on his ribcage.

'Thank you,' he whispers, and Seokwoo kisses his forehead, says he's the one who's thanking him as he moves his ice pack, putting it on the other part of his wound.

'I love you,' he says, placing his hand on Chanhee's, and Chanhee smiles, closing his eyes, muttering that he loves him too. 'Let's be careful next time we do that, okay? We'll light a candle before fumbling around like two idiots.'

Chanhee thinks that they probably wouldn't do better with a candle, would probably set fire to the apartment, but it's a conversation for another day — and so, as he cannot fight sleep anymore, as his consciousness slips out of his reach, he laughs, and kisses Seokwoo one last time before falling asleep.

'Yes, let's.'


End file.
